Another Happy Hour By The Lake
by SongbirdNoodles
Summary: What are Ron&Hermione up too while Harry and Ginny are busy making out in HBP? Well...


**Another Happy Hour By The Lake**

Sunlight, gorgeous, warming sunlight was spilling over the Hogwarts grounds, as though someone in the sky had knocked over an entire cauldron of it, spilling an abundance of warm, golden, peaceful light over the hills and meadows. Hermione Granger sat by the lake, paddling her feet in the water, her face turned towards the sky. Every pore was drinking in the light, the warmth, the calamity of her surroundings. The reed swaying in a calm breeze, the gentle splashing of the water as she moved her feet, the sensation of sweltering air against her skin…

"Bloody _hell_!" Hermione blinked. "I think I'm seriously going to be sick." Ron was looking at a spot across the lake, where she could make out two familiar looking people, who seemed rather pleasantly occupied. She turned at Ron, who was looking as though he had witnessed the creation of Crabbe and Goyle's lovechild.

"Oh, Ron, calm down. They're just kissing. It's what couples do- you of all people should know that," she added, rather nastily. Ron stared at her, his ears turning bright red, and turned back to gaze intently at Harry and Ginny.

"It's just so weird to see your best mate and your baby sister snog. No bloke'd want that, honestly!" He shook his head, pulling a face. "What if they break up?"

"Oh Ron, honestly. As if Ginny'd let that happen!" Hermione amusedly turned her face towards him, shifting her body into a leaning position. Grass tickled her nose. It was pleasant, actually.

"Yeah, I know she's liked him forever and stuff, but…I dunno. I feel like I have to, you know, take care of her."

"You know, I'm sure Ginny would disagree about that. She always says you boys protected her too much when she was a kid. She's only a year younger than you, Ron. She's _not_ a baby."

"You don't understand," Ron turned up to her, trying to explain something he could only vaguely explain to himself, much less to Hermione, with her clever logic and rational conclusions. This wasn't rational. "When I was about five, Ginny and I were playing in the yard, and she fell off the swing. Broke her arm, got a black eye, the whole thing, and I realized- she's precious. She breaks easily. I had to, you know, make sure she didn't break. And the…in second year…when she was taken in…I felt so horribly. It happened because of me, because I didn't take care of her enough." Hermione made an impatient little noise, but he plowed on nonetheless. "And we went down to try and save her, and it wasn't me who saved it was…

" Harry," Hermione finished. "Precisely. Ron, do you honestly need anymore proof he is not planning on hurting her? "

"Guess not," Ron sighed. "Ah well. I guess I've got to get used to it." He let himself fall backward, so that he was lying next to her in the high grass. Their noses were almost touching, she could count every freckle through the blurry green. Suddenly, she became acutely aware of the spot on her chin, the way her hair must look like a mandrake from this angle. The stupid, rapid way her breaths were coming, and that he must surely notice how her heart was beating faster and faster. She sensed his touch more than she actually felt it, was the hand that she felt in hers really there? Was that gentle, soft caress on her hand just a ray of sun, a blade of grass? Were the fingers that were gently making their way up her arm, stumblingly, clumsily, uncertainly, touching the skin real? But they had to be, or she would have not felt as though she had been reduced to her palm and her left forearm. Surely, she would not have felt as though she was on fire, if she had not truly been burning. Surely, this sense of free-falling into blissful, sunlit nothingness was all the proof her analytical, logical, stupid mind needed to shut itself up.

She turned towards him, looking into his clear blue eyes, full to the brim with questions and hesitations, hopes and dreams and fears and wishes, but most of all gentleness. And it was at this moment that Hermione decided it didn't really matter anymore. This game had been going on long enough, and if Harry and Ginny had managed to get themselves together, surely so could she and Ron. She shifted her body just the tiniest bit, just to know that they were actually touching, that she was not being betrayed by the sweet, deceiving summer air, and kissed him.

As a child, Hermione had loved puzzles. Nothing gave her greater happiness then finding two pieces that perfectly fit each other, that created a picture when you stuck them together, just like magic. This was the same magic. The same knowledge that she had found her other puzzle piece, that together, the picture they created was one of supreme perfection. She felt his arm on her waist, pulling her closer, as though he, too, wanted to make sure this was real. She pulled her arms up, over his head, running one down his back. Each second was startling, new, complete perfection. Running her hands through his hair, his hands on her back, his kisses, deep and teasing at the same time, tasting of Fortescue's Raspberry Lemon Sorbet. The deep, calming smell of his body and the knowledge that from now on, it was all hers.


End file.
